


Four Cups Flour, Two Cups Sugar

by Vexicle



Series: Smooth Flying! Safe Travels! [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:50:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vexicle/pseuds/Vexicle
Summary: He's unorthodox, but somehow, they get along.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taro and Francis’s companion fic to CDaNB, since they arent childhood friends with the rest. This happens one month after school starts

Taro is about to start on step number three of his after-school routine - that being go home and… and then what? - when something unforeseen disrupts his careful arrangements. (Careful is such a stretch he almost falls over, but still.)

“Ciao!” Suddenly, there's a panting, but grinning brunet that slams his hands down on his desk. “That's French, right?”

_What what what what why??_ Taro forces out a smile, staring warily at his classmate. “May I help you with something?” The brunet’s face is leaning way too close to him, several brown strands spilling over his shoulder, and he's starting to get a little uncomfortable. His complexion is pale, his nose sharp, and he has the brightest smile Taro has seen in years.

_French… ah, it's that guy. Moreau._ Taro almost adds a ‘-san’ to the end of his classmate’s family name, but mentally scolds himself for doing so. _You aren't in Japan anymore. Stop it. That isn't how it works here._

Staring up at him with brilliant green eyes, Francis asks breathlessly, “Oshiro-san, right?”

Taro blinks. _What._

Taro didn't think he'd hear that kind of formality again. He observes the other boy, wondering if this is some sort of joke. Francis, however, completely seriously, puffs his chest out and crosses his arms, nodding his head. “Yeah, that's how they all say it in anime, right?”

_...you mean those bug-eyed characters?_

“Just call me Taro. Francis, was it?” Taro asks in a carefully neutral tone. _Eye contact, eye contact._

The brunet all but squeals, clenching his hands into fists. “First name basis already?!” Francis can't seem to stop grinning. It's almost blinding. Goodness, should he show kindness to this puppy? Who knows if he'd be able to shake it off afterwards, wagging tail and all. Logically, Taro knows he only means well, but he… he just wants Francis to stop reminding him already.

“You know my name?” Francis asks. If he closes his eyes a bit, Taro can almost imagine pricked brown ears on top of Francis’s head.

“Yes, I make an effort to remember each and every one of my classmate's names,” Taro says, making the same amount of effort to not be annoyed at the poor brunet - he doesn't seem malicious, after all. It's just that Francis seems barely able to tell that Taro wants to _go home_ and be _left alone_ , not necessarily in that order, and that draws his ire like a moth to a flame. Stupid, but it's natural instinct, after all.

“Are you lonely?” Francis asks, so bluntly he might as well have bludgeoned Taro with a brick. Taro doesn't reply and just stares, wide-eyed, until Francis decides that the silence has dragged on long enough. “I mean… I've always noticed you eat lunch alone, so I… I thought…”

_Please, stop pointing it out. I know, but..._

“Hey, hey now, it's alright,” Taro tries to say, but then finds his hands scrambling all over the place, to Francis’ shoulders and then back to his pockets cause what the hell was foreign etiquette for talking to acquaintances again? Then again, Francis seems to consider everyone his friend. He yaps to everyone in class like there's no tomorrow. It's another reason why Taro knows his name, because who wouldn't, when he's captured the hearts of so many in just a few short months? Is Francis really that kind to grace Taro with his presence? Francis has an easy kind of charisma, the one Taro doesn't have, and thinks he doesn't really need.

“You wanna do anything, senpai?”

Taro’s first thought is, _What the hell, he can get Japanese right, but not his own language?_

Taro’s second thought is just the word _senpai_ reverberating in his mind.

“ _Don't call me that_ ,” Taro hisses, harsher than he meant to. He recoils as if slapped, hugging his elbows.

The strangest thing is, if Francis notices, he pays Taro’s response no mind. “Ah, I thought ‘senpai’ was respectful?” Francis asks, still with the same enthusiastic demeanour. “So it's okay, and just embrace the senpai!”

“What,” Taro intones flatly. If he hadn't been told his whole life how to remain friendly and welcoming in the face of adversity, he'd long since have lost his temper.

“Well, actually, that's what anime tells me -”

“Okay, first thing,” Taro quips, letting his annoyance seep through. “Stop basing everything you learn off of _anime_. Anime is fiction. This,” Taro makes a spreading motion with his arms, “is _reality_.”

“It's been working well so far, though,” Francis whines, actually _whines_ , and pouts, making Taro almost feel bad for scolding this sad little thing. Almost. _Goodness, am I a babysitter now?_

“You do realise that you can't base social interactions off anime forever, can you?” Taro sighs and pulls at his shirt again. What a shame, it's one of his favourites, the plain white one, but at this rate he's probably going to end up tearing the cotton. “In any case, I'm a real person, and I'm asking you to just refer to me as _Taro_.”

Francis, for some ungodly reason, still looks confused. Not obstinate, not stubborn, but he raises his hand to his chin and taps against it a few times. Even his body language seems to have jumped right out of a cartoon, and Taro doesn't know what to make of it.

“Okay, put it this way.” He sighs and places his hand on Francis’s shoulders, giving him a little shake. “If you fall in love, would you stalk them forever and attempt to kill for your beloved?”

Francis looks shocked. “No - I… no! T-that's bad and illegal... a-and bad!”

“You see, there's a difference.” Taro squeezes his shoulder, staring down at Francis. “You understand, right?”

Francis seems to switch expressions way too quickly. Now he's smiling and nodding again. “I understand!”

“Good, and now -”

“You're secretly my mom, and you're wearing a Japanese dude costume, so you can spy on me at school! Right, mom?” There's a long finger jabbing at his forehead now. At least he's trimmed his nails, otherwise Taro would have more to think about than just _'What the actual fuck.'_

.

_The person that would not leave_ appears tomorrow at his desk again to not-leave Taro to his own devices. Taro wants to groan. The bright cheery yellow of the classroom is already too much for his sleepy brain. Instead, he smiles politely and says “Good morning” as he rubs his eyes.

“Bone juice, or something,” Francis says, looking very proud of himself as he stops in front of his desk. Their classmates look over, observing the strange interaction.

“Pardon?” Taro asks patiently, even though what he really wants to say is _On a scale of 1-10, how high is your IQ?_

“I keep forgetting how to say hello.” Francis shrugs, but just as suddenly he's pumping one fist in the air and pointing directly at Taro’s poor, abused forehead. “You! Today, you shall come with me!” Francis declares, grinning.

“Not until you stop those anime-isms,” Taro replies curtly.

“It's not anime this time!” Francis pouts, crosses his arms and stomps his foot. “Really, I swear! These are _theatrics_. I learnt them when I was younger!”

Taro observes Francis’s unruly waves, the light in his green eyes, his chest heaving slightly. “I… see,” he says, completely at a loss. 

In his humble opinion, Francis is really lucky it's still too early for many of their classmates to be here witnessing him making a fool out of himself. Taro wonders if one day, he'll look back on his behaviour and cringe so hard he falls into a ditch.

Then again, maybe Taro’s being too harsh on the poor kid. A quick glance out of the corner of his eye tells him that their smiles aren't taunting at all. They aren't laughing at him, they're laughing _with_ him, and maybe… maybe he should do the same.

“A big family means you gotta do this kinda stuff if you wanna be noticed, but… ah, maybe you're right and it _is_ kinda bratty.”

His curiosity piqued, Taro blurts out, “Big family?” Then he pauses, wondering if this is polite or impolite or neutral or whatever, because this isn't Japan, Taro. This isn't _Japan_.

Fortunately, it becomes evident that Taro could hit Francis with a stick and the brunet would still remain none the wiser. Francis just smiles and says, “Yep, I'm the baby of the bunch. My older sister’s already working as a trainee therapist… I think?”

“You're unsure?” 

“She's overseas. She's kinda busy now! Haven't heard from her in a while. I really want to see how she's doing!” Without permission, he drags the seat next to Taro out and sits down. Silently, Taro commits this behaviour to memory. Was it the norm here?

“Hey, so Japan is a beautiful country, right?”

“Did you just get that from anime?” Taro hates being so bitter, he does. He's just slightly tired of constant ‘konnichiwa!’s being thrown his way even if he's doing something so practically simple such as grocery shopping. These foreigners are kidding themselves when they think they know where he’s from. Taro wishes he were born elsewhere too.

Francis huffs. “Hey, my entire life doesn't revolve around anime!”

“Really?” Lavender eyes flick over to the determined face of his companion. Taro takes some time rifting through his mind for the Standard that he was taught. “What does _oshiete_ mean?” he finally settles on asking.

“Teach!”

“ _Futari_?”

“Two guys.”

Taro raises his eyebrow. “You don't even know how to pronounce _bonjour_ , so there you go. Busted.” His own pronunciation is _awful_ , but at least he knows the actual word.

Francis just looks amazed. “ _That's_ the word?”

“It's certainly not _ciao_.” Despite the ‘tsk tsk’ sounds he makes with his tongue, he can't deny there's something really amusing about the whole situation.

“Ah man, I don't really know how to say them, you know?” Francis just smiles, as if the subtext in his words isn't basically, ‘Hello, my name is Francis, which means Frenchman, and I am a Frenchman, from the land of the French, which is France, and I can't speak French!’

“... _how_?” Taro wants to groan and slam his head against his desk until his forehead is bruised.

Francis shrugs. “Eh, whatever. I can speak English better than my siblings, though.”

“And I bet your Standard is just perfect,” Taro says sarcastically - what has gotten into him today? He's not usually this moody, for goodness sake. He needs to steady himself, but this brunet is constantly ripping the rungs off the ladder he's climbing.

Francis looks at him, confused. “Standard?”

Oops. Taro clears his throat, hoping his apprehension isn’t immediately apparent. “Japanese,” he corrects hastily.

“Of course it wouldn't be as perfect as yours,” Francis says, and there's _admiration_ in his tone. There's an uncomfortable twinge at the corner of Taro’s chest.

_It's perfect, but at what cost?_

“Japanese is... complicated,” Taro says to distance his thoughts, taking extra care to work on his ‘l’s. He stares at his empty desk. 

“Asian languages usually are,” Francis comments. “For me, no Latin alphabet means no understanding. Show me kanji and my head will explode!” Francis exclaims, laughing. 

“I can understand a little Chinese. Korean’s really tough, though.”

“But you know?” Francis spreads his fingers, as if he's on a stage. “I think languages are all really beautiful, even if you can't understand it.”

“I...” Taro tries not to let his thoughts show. “I guess.”

“Ah - excuse me?” Taro’s deskmate stops in front of where Francis is sitting. Bryan, Taro recalls. “Sorry, I… just let me put my bags down.”

“Oh no, it's fine, really.” Standing up with a flourish, Francis stretches. “I'm gonna go buy something to eat. Do you guys want anything?”

“I already ate, but thanks,” Bryan says.

“I appreciate it, but it's alright.” Taro nods at him. _So he_ does _have some basic sense of social awareness._

“Okay! Ow river, then!” Francis waves and runs out the door.

...Taro is utterly speechless.

.

He's here _again_. Taro wonders if Francis feels sorry for him, or has a compulsion to ‘friend’ everyone in school as if real life is a social network. He leans down, hoping Francis doesn't catch onto his feelings. “Surely you'd have more important companions than me to spend your time with,” he says.

Francis blinks at him.

“More. Important. Friends.” Taro enunciates each word carefully, said as slowly as if he were talking to a young child.

“Important?” Francis cocks his head, his brown locks swept over one shoulder. “That's just silly. Everyone's my friend!”

“What about your best friend?” Taro asks, taking a bite out of his sandwich. The ‘Japanese food’ in the school canteen tastes nothing like home.

A pause. “I don't have one,” Francis says meekly, ducking his head. “Sometimes, I feel like I'm intruding.”

_...oh._

Taro studies him, long pale fingers tapping on the table, a light flush across his cheeks. _Is he…?_ Taro doesn't finish that thought, since he's pretty sure he doesn't know either.

“If you don't want me here, I can go,” Francis says quickly. The speed at which he stands up is surprising, and he almost successfully flees the scene; if only Taro hadn't stuck his hand out and grabbed him by the wrist first. 

It's a move that Taro himself hadn't predicted. His eyes flick to his hand, then back to Francis’s shocked (yet happy) expression. “It's okay,” he says, averting his gaze and dropping Francis’s arm, his heart still thumping from the adrenaline.

He hears the brunet make a pleased noise. “So, what kind of food do you like to eat?” Francis asks, his voice lilting. When Taro glances back at him again, he's placing one hand against his cheek and grinning. That should be the way he is. Taro hasn't interacted with Francis before all of this, but if there's one thing he knows about him, is that Francis isn't complete without his cheer.

“I mean, I do like the food back home…” Taro says quietly, poking at the ham in his sandwich. “I'm trying to get used to the food here, though. It's pretty nice.” Taro gives Francis a little grin of his own.

“Ahh, I'd love to taste actual ramen~”

Taro quirks an eyebrow, watching Francis as he starts salivating. Francis _talks_ as though he's from a cartoon as well. It's almost strange. Endearing? Taro almost laughs out loud.

_Endearing._

Still though, he looks at his classmate, smiling as the brunet jabbers on and on about udon, sushi and sashimi, all iconic foods, Taro knows. He wonders what Francis must think about the rest of the local dishes.

He furrows his brows, choosing to keep his mouth shut. Taro finishes the last of his sandwich, finding himself nodding along. 

.

Taro nearly gets a heart attack that night when he receives a text from Francis.

**Falala:** Nya~  
**Falala has sent you a sticker.**

Taro stares incredulously at said ‘sticker’. The chibi has pink hair and large, fluffy cat ears that barely resemble actual cat ears. The slanted magenta eyes have an amused glint in them. The drawing is incredibly adorable, though. He starts on his response, realises he's using the wrong language keyboard, and finally settles on sending:

**Taro:** ...nya?

_Really?_

Francis seems to still be online, but he isn't responding. Taro looks at the cute little chibi and debates asking how to save it, but he shakes his head and puts his phone away.

After he's finished exterminating a pesky nest of silkworms under a cabinet, Taro returns to his desk to find… _twenty_ new messages. Thankfully, he thought to left his phone on silent; he hasn't quite figured out how to change the annoying rooster notification sound.

Another text. Twenty one. 

Perplexed, Taro returns to Francis’s chat to find his running commentary on certain things. Francis has all but sent a whole army of catgirls. Apparently, Francis likes the silver-haired, ‘kuudere’ one the most. 

**Falala:** Oh hi hello!  
**Falala:** yes you should totally watch watakura!  
**Taro:** May I ask what's up with their ears?

A visible pause.

 **Falala:** Ears? Whats wrong?  
**Taro:** Why do they have the appearance of… fluff inside their ears?  
**Falala:** Art style? ):3 it be for cuteness  
**Falala:** ohoho  
**Falala:** one day if you let me… ill show the wonders of the world

Despite himself, Taro laughs. He wonders what Francis is doing right now. Is he on his bed? Somewhere else comfy? Maybe his bedwear would be every inch as ridiculous and soft as he is. He's pretty sure that Francis is at least doing well financially, from how expansive a wardrobe he seems to have. Taro swears that even after a little digging in his memory, he's never seen the brunet wear the same combination of tops and pants twice. Additionally, never has Francis ever had a hair out of place - even if unintentionally, he's certainly nailed the ‘fashionably messy’ look.

And what is Taro? Rough-and-tumble street urchin? His unpatterned shirts feel plain next to Francis’s vests and casual jackets.

**Taro:** I'll check it out when I have the time, thank you.

Taro eyes the dust gathering in the corner.

.

As predicted, it's not even a week before Francis attempts to indoctrinate Taro into his personal cult.

Somehow, the brunet has managed to drag Taro with him and is chattering away in his ear. He finds himself accompanying the brunet on a quest to a strange little shop at the mall near the school. Gently, but eagerly, Francis pushes Taro inside. It's cooling and welcoming, with a warm-looking interior. There's a song playing through the speakers that Taro understands the lyrics of.

Taro can't get a word in edgewise, so he settles for occasional sounds of affirmation. The truth is, he's actually a bit relieved. Talking to others has never really been his strong suit, and Francis is yapping up a storm big enough for the two of them. Taro eyes him out of the corner of his eye. Of course he owns a dog hoodie. Of course. It's a lighter shade of brown than his hair, but the ears made of fabric on top of the hood are so _cute_.

“Hey, hey, you're really like my mom, you know? She scolds me for all the same things you do!” Francis says, jolting Taro out of his thoughts.

“What makes you say that?” Taro asks, though he has a pretty strong suspicion.

“She's always complaining about how I watch too much anime.” Francis pouts. “I don't! And… and she calls me ‘silly child’!” Taro has to stifle a laugh at how _petulant_ he sounds. The brunet sees this and sticks his tongue out at him.

“If you _aren't_ completely obsessed with Japanese cartoons, then what are we doing in this figure shop?” Taro asks, laughing. In order to illustrate his point, Taro grabs the nearest box off the shelf. It's of some girl with large breasts and pink hair, wearing her standard school uniform. (His eyes can't help travelling over certain areas. No wonder this type of stuff is all the rage in the city.)

“Do you go online window shopping often?” Taro muses idly, distracted.

“Ah, yeah… but I like to looksie. All of this stuff is really pretty! You can't fully admire them just from a picture!” Francis walks over, peering closely at the box. Taro almost feels the strange urge to pull it out of his sight, but then Francis starts giggling. It's a curious, lovely sound.

“Do you think my mom will get me one of these for my thirteenth birthday?”

Taro nearly drops his box. “I, well, I suppose -” Then he lets out a squeak as Francis darts close to him, faster than he thought was even possible.

“Man, is that the girl from that meme vid?” Francis asks, amusement in his voice, scanning the contents.

“What?” Taro turns the box around, reading the carefully pasted-on labels. _These are really expensive. How luxurious._

“Meme vid,” Francis says, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes, but what's a ‘meme vid’?” Taro wonders if Francis is rich, not just simply of average income. Maybe that's why he's so… not all there. All that money can't purchase common sense.

“...a thing on the internet?” Francis blinks at him. “Uh, do you use it much?”

Taro gulps, casually stuffing the box back onto the shelf. “Uhhh, yes. I have,” he says, stumbling all over himself and hoping his jitters aren't obvious. It's not technically a lie, but... 

“Oh, then you know the music video?” 

_Why do you need to put me in such a spot?_ Taro thinks furiously. “Uhh. Yeah. It was really funny!” Taro hopes his voice isn't too suspiciously high-pitched.

His worries are for naught, however, since the brunet might as well have the sharpness of a spoon. Francis just smiles and nods, fishing out another box from a bottom shelf. “Hey, don’t you think this costume is totally awesome?” Francis asks, eyes shining. It's a short-haired blond, clad in silver knight’s armor.

“Ah, it’s…” Taro picks the box up and frowns. “I think the armor should have been golden, or something. Also, I believe I prefer frills and lace,” he says, his words filled with amusement as Francis’ eyes light up with a fiery passion.

“Right!” Francis says, a little too loudly. Taro squeaks as Francis literally drags him by hand outside the cozy, cafe-themed shop and towards another one, this time with bright lights and large displays. 

“Come on, I'll tell you the difference between shorts and leggings!”

“ _What_?”

.

It's been more than a month since he and Francis first started hanging out with each other. Taro grimaces as he wipes the greasy kitchen counter, his mind whirring. Taro didn't think he would at first, but he really enjoys the brunet’s company. They've talked for hours and hours about their interests, school, and hobbies. That's why he's at his dingy kitchen now, looking through the small fridge and wondering what he should do.

They were friends now, right? Right? To tell the truth, Taro has no idea. He hasn't had very many people to talk to ever since he was a kid, but he still wants to… to thank him.

Taro understands quite a bit about his classmate now - apart from anime, he does like watching Western cartoons. He doesn't mind (loves) the cliche stuff. His favourite colour is gray. Francis thinks male fashion is OH so restrictive and wants to try toeing the line in the future. He won't be the model though, he's uncomfortable, but he'd like to help others. Francis has a pet corgi that is fluffy and delightful. He thinks the rest of his family is crazy for liking escargot. 

And... what does Francis know about him, in turn?

Almost... almost _nothing_. When Francis is on one of his tangents, Taro doesn't do anything but smile and nod. Of course. It's stupid, but it's the only thing he knows to do. However, Taro feels like he owes it to Francis to at least try offering something up about himself. Hence, his puzzling over the recipes laid out on the kitchen table. Is it a little formal? Is it a little too soon? Shaking the doubt out of his mind, he pulls some flour and sugar out. He smiles and hums a little tune he'd learnt and memorised over the years.

_Really now, Taro. Breaking the ice after all this time?_

Still though, Francis went out of his way to make him feel welcome, and Taro… Taro feels so _grateful_. He never thought anyone would even look twice at him.

Taro spends a few seconds cackling while rubbing his palms together, before he realises just what he's doing and coughs. He looks around, embarrassed. God, Francis would probably tease him for days on end if he knew.

Their friendship has gotten to the point where Taro thinks it's socially acceptable to return some of Francis’s comments with good-natured ribbing. It's almost natural now. These days Taro spends most of his time with Francis, and he thinks that it's almost… refreshing. This was the stuff he was missing back in Uchinaa. He'd never really went out of his comfort zone before, and he wonders if he'd spend eternity huddling in his own corner otherwise. Taro is starting to wonder if all that worrying had been for naught. If there's one thing he knows, though, is that Francis is easy to get along with; he'd never judge, definitely. Taro still gets the jitters, the urge to clench his fist and stutter out a non-answer, but he feels like the knots in his stomach has loosened.

Taro thinks back to one of their earliest conversations, and wonders if Francis is his best friend.

.

“Hey! H-hello.” Taro cringes at his soft voice, so unsure - and he's just realised something. It's the first time he's actually started a conversation with Francis, and though the brunet is looking up at him eagerly, all ears, he's still flushing and stuttering. His fingers trace the smooth edges of the lunchbox behind his back.

“I-I… would you like to go for lunch with me?”

Francis just gives him this confused look, the one Taro has familiarised himself with; his brows furrowing, his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide. “Isn't that what we've been doing all this time?”

Taro coughs, blushing. “Okay, great. I, uh, I…” Taro leads the way out, Francis by his side. They stop once they make their way to one of the benches littered inside the school. “I made… these,” Taro says quietly, opening the lunchbox and letting Francis take a peek. Inside the box are golden, deep fried buns. Taro would have loved to drizzle them with honey.

“You said you liked Japanese food, right?”

So far so good. Francis doesn't seem uninterested. Curiously, he picks one up, poking it and feeling it's crispy texture, asking, “This is _Japanese_ food?”

“Yes, they're really popular where I used to live. Try one?” Taro doesn't name the snack - it'd be a huge giveaway what prefecture he's from. Eagerly, Francis bites into one. He swallows the entire thing in two gulps.

“G-good?” Taro asks, rubbing his arm, smiling shyly.

“You _made_ these?” Francis demands, and when Taro looks back at him he's swiped another doughnut. “You're totally one of those Asian masterchef people!”

“I… um, oh. No. I don't claim to be anything other than decent,” Taro says, though he's blushing all the same. He can't seem to stop smiling, but at the same time, the warm fluffy feeling makes it impossible to look Francis in the eye.

_Oh my god oh my god he likes it._

“Do you like these, too?”

“Yeah, they… they’re my favourite.” Taro picks one of the doughnuts up, biting into it and enjoying the sweet fluffy texture on the inside. He likes it better warm, but it's still delicious all the same.

“What are these called?” is the question Francis unfortunately asks next, and Taro tries not to let it show how hard his heart is thumping. Even more unfortunately, his shining green eyes make Taro preemptively delete any thoughts of avoiding said question. 

“Andagi,” Taro says quickly, hoping that Francis doesn't catch it.

“How do you spell it?”

Taro bites back a sigh and obediently spells the name out letter by letter. 

“Mmhmm, thanks!” Francis has eaten three by now, and he eyes the rest of the doughnuts with not-quite-concealed greed. Taro sighs and just slides the entire box over to him. Francis cheers and absolutely devours the rest of its contents.

As he sits watching, Taro crosses his fingers behind his back.

.

Unfortunately, yet again, no such luck, because the first thing Taro hears from Francis tomorrow is, “You're from Okinawa?”

Taro freezes, and before he can stop himself glances over at his classmates to check if they heard. Francis is at least considerate enough to have asked that question in a low, hushed tone, and no one’s really paying them any mind anymore, but still Taro gulps and grips his desk.

Taro wants to say no.

“I am,” he says, sinking his head against his desk.

“Okina -”

“Francis, quiet,” Taro hisses, covering his face with his hands. “Please,” he adds a moment later.

“Oh?” Francis sounds confused, almost disbelieving, and Taro staunchly refuses to look beside him, into Francis’s eyes. There's probably going to be a certain disappointment in his gaze.

“Okinawa looks really beautiful,” he says, surprising Taro.

“I suppose you can say that,” Taro says, bitter frost creeping over his words.

Francis doesn't say anything, and it's just Taro and his thundering heartbeat and his sudden dizziness and trembling hands. The suspense twists and coils in his gut, until he finally hears, “You don't like it?” 

It's said so... innocently.

_Puppies are sensitive to emotions._ Taro has no idea where that fleeting thought even came from. He feels hysterical, almost. He wants to grab Francis by his shirt collar and shake him back and forth, but chooses to rub at his eyes instead.

“Hey, hey, we can drop it, okay?” Suddenly, there's warmth on his back. Francis is making contact with him. Then, it's gone. Taro wishes he could take back his involuntary flinch. When he finally turns to Francis, there's no judgement, no hurt, just a careful consideration in his gaze. That sharp look is new. Taro would almost have been impressed if he wasn't so concerned with not shitting himself right now.

“Nothing, nothing,” Taro whispers hastily, cradling himself. “No problem here.”

“...it's not nothing.” Francis smiles sadly. “I don't know what I did, but if it makes you sad, let's talk about things that make you happy.” He taps his chin in thought. “Uh, actually, what _does_ make you happy?”

That earns him an owlish blink from the black-haired boy.

“All this time, like… you… like, what are your hobbies?”

Taro’s stare is less blank this time. “I like cleaning?”

Francis manages an awkward smile. “Cleanliness is… nice?”

Taro quickly abandons that thread of conversation. “Um… at my old school, I used to be… in the choir.” Taro clasps his hands in his lap. That _was_ something Francis could elaborate on, right?

“Choir?” Francis widens his eyes until they're almost comically bulging. “How high can you sing?”

“It's… it’s been a while,” Taro says. His chest finally relaxes enough to allow him to breathe. “I'm a tenor, so it's pretty high. They made us sing the funniest things!” Taro stifles a giggle at the memory. “One was a German song, and some of the words in the chorus sounded so much like ‘fuck me’ -”

Francis squeaks and clutches at him, his eyes wide. 

“What's wrong?” 

“Nothing! I just didn't know you could swear!”

Taro stares and stares and then it all bubbles over and he sits there and he just starts _laughing_.

He doesn't know why - maybe it's the way Francis looks so adorably lost, or maybe it's his mind buckling from sheer overload - but as he calms down, he admits, “I'm not from Tokyo, or Akihabara, or anywhere like that, so…”

Francis struggles to get anything out past stutters, his expression shifting from shocked to confused to… is that happiness? Sweat drips down Taro’s temple, and he tries to look anywhere but his friend.

“I mean, there's nothing wrong with that, right?” Francis says, and his tone is so pure, so free of any disapproval or judgement or anger that Taro, for a second, doesn't know how to react. His body feels petrified even as the brunet sweeps him into a hug.

“I… I…” Taro squeezes his eyes shut, the pressure making tears prick at his eyelids, and then he realises his arms are stagnant by his side and he should probably do something with them. (Francis’s hair tickles, he idly notes.)

Francis is also wearing a new shirt today. Nothing too fancy, black with white stripes, but the cotton feels more luxurious than any piece of clothing Taro’s ever had. The black-haired boy is overcome with the sudden urge to run his hands over the materials, but he doesn't.

“I’m sorry. Is it not nice?” Francis asks kindly, all too kindly, and then Taro’s eyes really do start watering and then he's biting his lip and clutching his friend closer, social boundaries be damned. Francis pauses before slowly reach up to rub soothing circles on Taro’s back. Taro sighs and relaxes into the touch.

“Come with me,” he whispers. He’s pretty sure he's caused enough of a commotion today. Maybe the fresh air will help him sort things out. Not daring to look at his classmates, he fervently prays that they didn't notice. Francis follows him silently, his footsteps slow and hesitant.

But honestly, Francis noticed, and that's the only thing that's making Taro feels like he needs to urgently locate the nearest trash can. His chest heaves as a dull ache settles into his brain. Francis follows the other boy into a secluded corner of the school garden. Taro is tempted to hide behind the bushes.

Taro whirls around, opens and closes his mouth a few times, before finally spitting out, “Francis, I'm a year older than you, and... a-and everyone else.” Taro cringes and shuts his eyes tight, gritting his teeth, tensing his heart for what he knows the brunet will say. He doesn't want to hear it, he knows he'll never truly be ready for it, no matter how long he readies his defences.

What he _isn't_ expecting is a soft, (still) confused, “So?”

Taro is so shocked he nearly falls over into the pond. “I… I, no I mean… I kinda don't really… I don't talk good.” 

Whatever this strange feeling bubbling to the surface is, the one thing Taro knows is it's currently restricting his entire body from working properly. Taro looks at Francis and he just can't do anything, so he just stands there and blabbers on until he finally gets tired of that and then Taro squirms under Francis’s gaze, even though by all logical reasoning, he shouldn't feel the need - the brunet is simply cocking his head more and more exaggeratedly with every jumbled phrase Taro blurts out. But there's nothing, he's still staying here, by his side, though Francis’s relaxed stance steadily grows tenser and tenser every time Taro trips over his own words. 

“... _what_?” Francis finally concludes, oh so wisely. This nearly causes Taro to point and snort.

“I have an accent,” Taro says. He's pretty sure that this impromptu essay is completely out of point and out of order. If this were graded, he'd probably get a score in the negatives.

“What accent?” Francis asks, striking the thinker pose again. Taro decides to take it as a compliment.

“I… that's good, but I - I, um… I didn’t do well either!” Taro can't seem to stop himself from spilling the first thing on his mind; it's as if a dam has been broken just from that one small little Francism and now Taro is releasing his inner idiot. It's a rhyme, no, it's alliterative, yes that's great and spectacular and Taro lets out an ungodly scream as he suddenly finds hands gripping his shoulders.

Francis, to his _immense_ credit, doesn't recoil. He simply holds the taller boy steady, despite his trembles. Now that Taro has some form of support his legs feel weak, but no, he can't faint now! Taro closes his eyes, trying to shut out the dizziness threatening to drag him under.

“My siblings taught me about stuff like this,” Francis informs him, so calm, so steady, so clear. He takes Taro’s hand and leads him slowly to the bench beside the pond. “Take deep breaths, okay? Watch my hand. Breathe.” Slowly, resting one hand on his shoulder, Francis clenches and unclenches his fist. Slowly, Taro feels the right grip on his lungs loosen. He collapses against the hardness of the wooden backrest, closing his eyes.

He can hear Francis titter nervously, and his hand continues to squeeze Taro’s shoulders comfortingly. “If it's making you this panicky, maybe you should rest.”

Taro shakes his head. “No, I'm… if you thought I was someone like the characters you see in anime, I'm nothing like them.”

“...what?” Francis sounds absolutely _incredulous_ , and Taro instantly shifts his weight to the farthest end of the bench, huddling against himself and not daring to look up.

“I… but… you said it yourself. Anime isn't reality.”

“You don't… you didn't… approach me because of where I was born?”

“W-what? I - no!” Suddenly, there's warm arms around him again. Taro closes his eyes and leans into the gentle touch. He feels Francis hold him steady and one hand sliding up to his shoulder. 

“I just thought you needed a friend.” Francis’s voice sounds small, full of - dare Taro say? - affection.

“A friend?” Taro takes a deep breath, clutching at Francis’s arm. “Yeah, I… I like having you here. Thank you.” Taro pauses for a while and just allows his heartbeat to slow to its normal rate. He can breathe now. It's a beautiful day out. His eyes lock onto the yellow butterfly fluttering lazily in front of them. He draws his eyes away, and suddenly feeling ashamed for his childishness, he whispers, “No one's ever done this for me before. I appreciate it.” Taro wishes he could hide his face.

“No one at all? Your parents?”

“Well, y-yeah, but none of my classmates…” Taro takes a deep breath, unhooks Francis from him, and looks at him unsurely. Nevertheless, he's has already committed himself to this path of action, perhaps a little too thoroughly, and so he clears his throat and says, “They didn't… talk to me.” He drops his gaze and turns away to stare at his shoes, or something. “They didn't like me.”

Again with the hand on his shoulder. Taro could certainly get used to this. Francis being here, just… _here_ is foreign, but it's good. Taro never wanted to burden anyone, but Francis had offered it up so willingly, and Taro feels himself choking up again, but this time it's a pleasant, warm feeling.

“Awww. I like you, Takkun.”

Taro nearly slips off his seat. “Ta… _Takkun_?” Taro stammers, feeling like he's flopping around like a fish as a blush spreads across his face.

Francis has a bright shine in his eyes now. Nodding fervently, he says, “Yeah! It's good, right? Catchy.”

Taro feels like he's melting into a puddle and soon there will be traces of himself found in the pond, being eaten up by the koi or whatever. “Y-yeah, I… thanks for being here, I mean it. Fr-Francis… kun,” he stammers. Suddenly, Taro feels a strange disappointment for the fact that he never got to hear that nickname back home. He likes it, he thinks. How strange that he first hears it from the mouth of a foreigner.

Francis seems delighted despite his hesitance, and Taro himself feels like he's cheated him out of something grand, whatever this is, there's a tangible _something_. “Fra… kun,” he tries, feeling completely, thoroughly drenched in embarrassment from head to toe. 

“Frakkun,” he says again, this time stronger and louder. Taro decides he likes the sound of it, and decides to celebrate this new milestone of their relationship by getting back to the matter at hand. “My classmates, they were distant. It wasn’t anything too bad, but it... hurt.” He shakes his head and draws his knees up to his chest, hugging his legs. He buries his head against his knees so he doesn't need to face anything anymore. “It's because of English, you know, it was hard for me. It's better now.”

“Really?” Disbelief colours Francis’s tone. “You sound perfectly fine to me!” Taro perks up at that.

“At that point, I was kinda small… and then I had a reputation. Of… dumbness.” He squeezes his eyes shut so tight it's almost painful. “They didn't like, do anything, but…” _Loneliness._ He hears Francis utter a little “...why?”, and he sounds so genuine, so thoughtful, but Taro’s thoughts drag him under again. Taro takes a sharp breath. “What do you mean why?” Taro asks bitterly, his chest tightening. “I'm stupid, and stupid people can't be talked to.”

Francis is silent for a while, but his furrowed brows tell Taro he disagrees - and that little piece of knowledge makes Taro release a little sigh, resting one arm on the elegant swirled armrest.

“Is that common in your area?” Francis’s tone is a little deeper. Is Taro hearing him correctly? He sounds like he's just sobered up after a long night drinking. An aura of absolute disappointment radiates from the brunet. “And… no one thought to do anything?”

“I don't know, and no.”

Francis nibbles on his upper lip. “Not even… not even the teachers?” Francis asks, hesitant to know the answer.

Taro feels his mouth drop open. “Do _your_ teachers tend to interfere?”

“Yeah, yeah!” A smile works its way across his face now. “Trust me, Takkun. You'll like it here. I don't think anyone here cares as much about that as they do in your area. Yeah? And if they do, I promise I won't.” 

Taro knows it now, what that deep sense of longing in his heart was. Now he knows what he was missing, always sitting by himself at his own desk, never being spoken to, only having the plants in his school garden for company. A sudden flash of memory pierces his mind; him as a child, huddled near the bed of clovers, trying to spot one with four leaves. Now, Francis thought he mattered. That was enough for him.

“I don't know what goes on there but -” He finds Francis’s hand on his back again, but this time he doesn't move away. “You've been through a lot. I think you're great, okay?” Francis straightens his back up a little, determination flashing in his gaze, the hardness of his expression offset by the smile he has. “So, it’s fine. I won't tell.”

It's okay. It's okay and he's said it and Francis doesn't care. At that point, his chest practically bursts with affection.

Taro heaves a deep sigh, leaning into the inviting heat. “You… you don’t care I'm from the country?”

“Why would I?”

“I'm… I’m not a star.”

“Do you still like to sing?” Francis asks curiously. 

Taro pauses, and he thinks back to the event that started all this: him humming an ancient folk song while he struggles to unstick the dough. “I still do it sometimes,” he concludes.

“Then you're kinda a star, right? I heard singing lets you be happier.” Francis untangles himself from Taro, standing up and facing him. He smiles, leaning down and putting his hands behind his back. “Maybe you should sing, so you'll be less panicky.”

“That sounds like the greatest idea you've had in decades,” Taro says, chuckling weakly.

“Oh, but I'm only, like, one decade old.”

Taro can't help laughing out loud at that. It feels so good. Everything feels so light, so free. “Okay, I need to warm up a little,” he says as he joins Francis’s side. “But I'm dreadful, so I won't take offense if you burst out laughing.”

“Whatever it is, I'm sure you aren't as bad as me.” Francis bites his lip and actually, truly _blushes_ , though he tries to obscure it behind his hand. “I… like to sing sometimes, too. I don't have training like you, so you'll be better, I know it.”

Taro sincerely hopes all of his gratitude and fondness can be conveyed in his smile. “Thank you. I could teach you, if you'd like.”

Taro clears his throat, and sings a soft, short little tune. Nothing majestic about it, just the simple upward slide of a single note.

“Oh, I think I got it. Aah - ah - ah~”

They repeat this process a few more times, and then Taro finds himself subconsciously copying Sherlock Francis, placing his index finger against his chin. “You're not bad, you know. You're in tune. That's good.”

Francis pulls a face. “Isn't that like complimenting me for knowing how to breathe?”

“At first glance, I thought you couldn't,” Taro teases him, and he dissolves into laughter and flailing limbs as Francis lunges forward to tickle him. “Stop, stop!” He giggles breathlessly, trying and failing to fend off the smaller boy. Francis elicits laughter from him, and Taro truly feels like he's someone amazing.

They stop laughing and get back to business, though they still chuckle from time to time and when their eyes meet, they burst out into random giggles again. 

“I like your voice,” Francis says as he wipes his eyes. “It's really… refreshing.”

“Ah, all choir singers are like that,” Taro says dismissively, and before he can protest, Taro quickly interjects: “You, though, I think you have some potential. I can hear it. I’m not a teacher, but you’re not as bad as you think.”

“You’re still better than me, though!”

Taro chuckles and rolls his eyes affectionately. “I'm trying to praise you here, accept it, jeez.”

“Fine, fine, and then afterwards I will -”

There's a snapping of a twig and a soft gasp, and Taro spins around abruptly, eyes wide. The person that greets him is a redhead with tanned skin, and he's backing away, looking like he's on the verge of tears. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!” The stranger apologises so quietly, Taro can barely hear him. “I didn't mean to… I didn't want to… d-disturb you or anything like that…”

“That's not a problem!” Francis’s superspeed allows him to appear in front of the redhead in approximately five milliseconds. Taro is impressed. 

“What's your name?” Francis asks, examining the redhead closely and seemingly unaware of the redhead’s squeaks of terror.

“Did you… need one of us for something?” Taro asks, joining the brunet in his mission. He lets out a soft ‘hmm’, looking the frightened boy up and down. The redhead reminds him of a wild animal, with the way he's clutching his tablet to his chest. He seems familiar, somehow.

“No, I… I heard your singing. I-it was really beautiful,” he manages to get out, amber eyes wide. 

“See!” Francis turns on Taro triumphantly. “I told you!”

“And…” The mysterious stranger averts his gaze. “Y-yours too. It was good.”

Francis, startled, can't manage anything but a surprised “Oh?” Taro, however, notices the way his chest puffs out.

“Y-yeah, I'm sorry… I don't mean to intrude! I'll go now!” With a burst of speed rivalling the brunet, the redhead is gone.

Francis stares after him. “Aww, I wanna be friends,” he says, deflating.

_Me too._ Taro knows who that boy reminds him of. Himself. He'd love to help him any way he could. For now, though, he simply laughs and plays off the strange encounter, experimentally flinging one arm over Francis’s shoulder - and to his delight, Francis doesn't mind. He looks at Taro and smiles, and he knows things will be alright. 

_I'll see him around._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More Taro cant catch a break at 11 o clock

“It's a nice place you have here, Takkun!”

For a split second Taro feels like calling Francis out for lying, but one look at how he has a curious light in his eyes cuts Taro off preemptively. The brunet hums, jumping and bouncing around his house, even as Taro frets over the state of his small apartment. 

It's nothing fancy; the walls are barely painted. Only his room has any colour at all, but where he and Francis stands in the combo kitchen-dining-living-room is drab and gray, cracks showing in the walls. Luckily Francis had given Taro notice that he was coming, otherwise Taro would probably have to soothe a terrified Francis after the bugs decided to come out to play. He checked his entire home himself, and he finally seems to be rid of the pesky cockroaches… for now.

However, Francis doesn't seem to mind the boringness of his residence, constantly dashing around. It’s hard to keep track of him - first dashing in the bathroom, looking inside the cheap fridge, running into Taro’s bedroom - _wait_.

“Francis!” Taro exclaims, following him. “You're not supposed to -”

Francis blinks up at him from his bed. “Oh, sorry,” he says, crestfallen, rolling out of the bed. Taro winces in sympathy at the small drop, watching Francis rub his side. 

“What did you do that for?” Taro scolds him, dropping to his knees beside the brunet. “Are you okay?”

Francis grins up at him, then flashes him a thumbs up. Taro heaves a sigh. _I’d scold him more for making my bed dirty, but when is it ever not? Maybe. Whatever._

“Don't do that again, please,” Taro chides Francis, helping him up, then leading him by the arm outside. His blood is boiling, but Taro forces it down - maybe this was foreign culture, or something. Francis certainly wouldn't mean any disrespect. Taro pushes his negative feelings away and takes a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

“You seemed to like this the last time, so I made more. I hope you enjoy.” Taro gives Francis a half-hearted smile, passing him the dish he'd freshly prepared just prior to the brunet’s visit. Taro tactfully makes no mention of the fact that he’s running out, just a pitiful handful of flour left.

Francis pulls out one of the three wooden chairs, seating himself at the round table. He looks back and forth between Taro and the donuts, before blurting out, “I don't really know what I did wrong, but your aura’s really scary and I'm sorry!”

Upon hearing this, Taro just sighs and sits down next to him. “Do you really not know not to borrow other people’s beds on your first visit?” he asks, his tone a little harsher than he meant for it to be.

“Okay, I won't do it anymore.” Francis’s lip wobbles and he bows his head apologetically, and Taro stares, surprised at the sign of respect. He’s never seen this addressed to him before. Taro glances away, suddenly flustered, yet thankful. 

Francis’s cheer seems to pick back up after that. “Anyway, Taro, your cooking skills are really good!” Without any shame whatsoever, he picks one up and bites into it. “Mm, honey!” he says around a mouthful of donut.

Taro blushes, shyly brushing his hair back. “It's nothing much, really.” He won't say it out loud, but Francis’s praise makes his skin tingle.

“Aw, come on, man, you're the best!” 

Something pricks uncomfortably at Taro’s skin. “No way, I'm afraid.”

“Yes way!”

“No.”

“Yes! You make lots of good things!”

“These things are the only good thing to have come out of Okinawa,” Taro sneers. It's so unlike him that he catches himself off guard for a moment.

Francis watches him intently, though the effect is ruined by the slow crunching and the specks of dough littered around his lips. “Name one bad thing to have come out of Okinawa,” he challenges Taro.

“Me,” Taro replies, only half-kidding. He feels his shoulders sag.

Francis swallows. “Taro-kun, are you still on about that?” he asks, cocking his head.

_Taro-kun?_ Where Taro previously felt nothing but flustered, now he thinks that it feels... kinda right.

“Anyway,” Francis continues cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to Taro’s plight, “It doesn't matter if you don't think you're cool, because I think you're cool, and that's enough thinking for the both of us to do! So sit back, relax, and I'll do the detective stuff!”

“I, um,” Taro says, because he still hasn't quite recovered. _Do people speak so casually here? Or is it just Francis?_ Taro certainly hasn't personally spoke to many others. He notices Francis glancing at him meaningfully, his entire body trembling with excitement. “Thank y-you,” he stammers out.

Warmth unfolds like a blossom in his body. He really feels like he'd be lost without Francis. Though it's true that the brunet seems to have little to no understanding of some social stuff, he supposes that's what makes Francis so likeable to the others. He's a little envious, actually. Maybe Francis would teach Taro how to be sociable like him, but for now, he's stuck in the shadows.

Taro thinks back to the mysterious redhead that both of them had met, and then the thought disappears like water through a sieve.

And some small (big) part of Taro is absolutely thrilled that he's been accepted by somebody, someone thinks he's worth spending time with - and he likes Francis too. He smiles. Like it or not, they're stuck with each other now. Taro’ll put in some effort looking out for his reckless friend.

After all, relationships had to be built, right?

“Thank you,” he repeats with more conviction, nodding appreciatively at his classmate.

He thinks that Francis has already taught him a thing or two. Suddenly, the black-haired boy grins and nods towards Francis, saying, “Fran-chan.”

The response is instantaneous. Francis gapes at Taro before shutting it and shaking his head. “No way. Frakkun’s better!”

“Alright, alright.” Taro laughs. “Just saying. It rhymes!” And it’s also something really close, but Francis doesn’t need to know that. Taro just feels like... Francis is the first friend he’s had in a while. Maybe he’s being a little greedy. But it’s hard not to get attached to someone that shines like the sun.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you meanie.” Francis sticks his tongue out at Taro. Running away, the brunet grabs the remote control and speeds back to the table. “Here.” Francis presses the button to turn the crusty old box on. “Now we can watch some stuff while we eat.”

“That isn’t good for digestion -” Taro pauses as he hears the monotone female voice mention his homeland by name. Okinawa. Attention pricked, Taro turns his attention to the TV and listens as if he were an obedient dog.

_“...damage from the typhoon that hit Okinawan shores last September is slowly starting to subside. Since last year, progress has been made and buildings and farms are slowly being rebuilt...”_

_No, no, no._ Taro closes his eyes stubbornly, refusing to think of the horrid pictures of his fellow citizens being engulfed by high winds and waves, sweeping destruction through their homes and farmlands. _It’s no use. I can’t block out the sound like this._ Like a lightning strike, Taro grabs the remote and swiftly turns the TV off, realising in the process that he’s panting a little.

There silence, during which Taro tries to calm himself down.

“Sorry.” Francis’s green eyes look downcast. “I didn’t think... this is already the second time I’ve done something weird. I’m really sorry!”

“It’s alright,” Taro says stiffly. He doesn’t want to think. Not now. Not when just the thought that it might have been his family next... he thought he had done a good job putting it out of his mind over the past few months, reminding himself, always reminding himself: _Hey, you, your parents have spent a lot to get you somewhere safe. Repay them well by making the best out of your studies. You’ve already let them down once._ Mountains upon mountains, rivers upon rivers... the tidal wave of mixed guilt and despair once again.

_...I hope they’re all okay..._

He blinks as he realises Francis’s hand has inched forward, timidly tapping against his fingers with his own. “I don’t think you meant to say that out loud, but I’ll keep it quiet if that’s what you want,” the brunet offers quietly.

Taro blinks and then flinches. _What. What!?_ “I... I said that?” he whispers. Taro feels like his world is ending. Of all the stupid, impossible, huge things he shouldn’t have bothered Francis about...

“Yeah.” Still, Francis looks at him with those kind eyes, the _much too good_ for this world sort of kind. “Taro-kun, I won’t ask. That’s really scary.” Francis shivers. “I can get why you’d come here. I’m scared, too.” Then, the French boy hesitates, inching forward. The treats lie forgotten on the plate, but that isn’t on Taro’s mind at the moment. What is is the fact that Francis has filled his vision, hands outstretched, asking for, “...a hug? Please?”

Taro just stares and stares and before he knows it he realises that tears have been circling in his eyes. Wiping them and sniffing quietly, he obliges. _Francis... Francis feels just as warm as the first time,_ he realises. Closing his eyes, he allows Francis’s slight flowery scent to surround him.

“I didn’t... know any of those people.”

“Mm.”

“But it was really horrible when I went outside one day, and standing on this really steep hill in our village.” Taro raised his arms to their highest. “I saw it then? I think? Just the tip, disappearing over the horizon like a fin. Or maybe I was wrong. I’m kind of a little cut off from common knowledge here, you’ll need to excuse me. But whatever it was, it really, really scared me. My parents were scared it’d come for us next, so... we left as soon as possible. Took all our money with us. A few of my fellow villagers left too, but I haven’t seem them in a while since we ended up in different places. My parents were sad, but back home I was never that close with them, so I’m not too affected.” Taro gestures around his apartment. “It... it’s definitely not much, but as simple refugees... I’m already grateful for what we’ve been offered.”

“So you weren’t hurt?”

“Not personally, no,” Taro sighs, “but it easily could have been, and even though it wasn’t my family, those who were harmed have loved ones too. It just... it’s just such a terrible thing.” Taro shakes his head, bowing his head briefly as if in remembrance of those he would never get the opportunity to know.

“I’m scared,” Francis admits, burrowing deeper into Taro’s embrace.

“It won’t happen here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Definitely.” Taro nods with determination. “I know natural disasters aren’t as bad here. It’s different, and it’s taken some getting used to, though. We don’t make much, but... it’s actually slightly better when we were still living on the farm.”

“You... you lived on a farm?” Francis gasps, his voice again filled with that familiar whimsical delight. So it doesn’t take much to distract him from his fears. “Tell me! Tell me!”

Taro chuckles. Or perhaps Francis has mastered the art of putting worries to rest, because even after that, with this sudden change of subject, Taro finds himself unable to further dwell on his problems to dig a well deep enough to store all of his grievances. Of course, the subject of those lost can’t have sand piled on to hide it in such a simple manner, but as for his own insecurities, Taro admits he needs a break from his own negative thoughts.

 _Oh, Taro,_ he chides himself, _You really shouldn’t have just dismissed Francis as an idiot at first glance._

After all, without Francis, would he have this peace he hasn’t felt in years?

No. Probably not. And then Taro finds himself smiling again as he wipes at the tears in the corner of his eyes. “Of course I’ll tell you,” he teases, “after you’ve finished your food.”


End file.
